


B&R125: The Date

by dsa_archivist



Category: due South
Genre: Drama, M/M, Series, Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-05-14
Updated: 2008-05-14
Packaged: 2018-11-10 16:35:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,550
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11130561
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dsa_archivist/pseuds/dsa_archivist
Summary: Stan's got a lady.





	B&R125: The Date

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Speranza, the archivist: this story was once archived at [Due South Archive](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Due_South_Archive). To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in June 2017. I tried to reach out to all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [Due South Archive collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/duesoutharchive).

B&R125: The Date

## B&R125: The Date

  
by Dee Gilles  


Disclaimer: For entertainment only.

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Benny & Ray 125 The Date Dee Gilles Rated G  
  
Stanley awoke at eleven and reluctantly clambered out of bed at noon. He loved to sleep. He could do it all day. But he couldn't help but hear his father's voice in his head say pitter patter, let's get at her as he sat up with a tired groan, rubbing his eyes. He had been hanging out with his dad way too much lately. The folks were up for the summer, camped out at their usual place in Skokie. They were returning to Arizona right after Labor Day. Stan wondered how he'd spend all the free time he'd be having soon. Between the folks going back home, and him not having to drive Fraser all over the city on errands anymore, he suddenly had a lot of time on his hands. He hoped he'd be making good use of it soon. Stanley had a date tonight.  
  
He headed first to the bathroom to piss and then to the kitchen to put on some coffee. He shuffled around his cramped kitchen in bare feet, stepping on bits of spilled `Froot Loops'. He'd better get that up before the ants discovered it. He did have a bit of an ant problem. There were traps everywhere, the little metal discs shoved into every corner or crevice he could reach. Stan suspected the ants were only eating the poison and getting stronger.   
  
He grabbed his box of coffee filters from the shelf above the sink. He reached inside, and produced...nothing. Checking the coffee maker, he confirmed that yesterday's filter was still in there, stiff with old grounds. He dumped fresh coffee right on top of the old, and turned the machine on.   
  
He grabbed some Pop Tarts from an open box on the counter and ate them cold while he waited for his coffee.   
  
He drank his black coffee, and perused yesterday's sports page.   
  
He sighed and rose from the small table, thinking he'd better get cracking. He had a lot to do today. In the living room, he raised the dusty old mini-blinds, flooding the small space with sunlight. The air was thick with dust motes. Stan took it all in with a sinking feeling. What a dump! He really needed to start looking for something bigger and brighter. He was tired of the dismal view of the freight yard below, tired of hearing the trains rumble by at all times of the day or the night.   
  
Fraser had a friend John who had just bought a two-flat on West Hutchinson, around the corner from Portage Park and he was looking for a tenant to rent the upstairs. Stan didn't think he could afford it, but maybe he'd have a look anyway, could get the price down a little. Most people liked the idea of having a cop next to them, and they'd give him a break on the rent. He could use a break.   
  
Stan lugged out his old Hoover and did his best to clean up the old carpet. The orange-gold fibers were matted down in some spots, and dingy gray in others. Various throw rugs covered the worst stains. Every surface of the living room was littered with old pizza boxes, cereal bowls with sticky dried milk in them, an old sandwich covered in mold...or were those ants?   
  
This was no place to bring a lady, if the evening went as well as he hoped. Damn, he needed to move. No wonder he'd been alone for so long.  
  
He got down to business, cleaning and scrubbing the kitchen and bathroom in his bare feet and boxers. He picked up his bedroom, washed the windows and the dishes. He slipped on some jeans and ran downstairs do a load of laundry.   
  
He felt happier, and more buoyant, as he folded and put away his laundry. He'd have to try cleaning more often.  
  
Glancing at the clock, Stan realized he'd better get a move on if he wanted to get everything accomplished that he wanted to, and make it to his date on time. He put on a clean shirt and grabbed his car keys.  
  
He ran downstairs to where the GTO was parked about a half-block away, and drove it down the street to get it detailed. Next, he went over to Eastwood Ave for a shave and a haircut. The shave felt real good. He loved sitting under the hot towel, the feel of the hot foam applied by the stiff camel hair brush, and the sound of the barber stropping the straight razor. The sound reminded him of sitting in the same barbershop with his Dziadzia, waiting to get his hair cut when he was a little kid. Stan hated getting his hair cut. He always made a fuss. Dziadzia gave him peppermint sticks to keep him quiet.   
  
The car was ready by the time Stan walked back to the carwash. He slid behind the wheel and eased out into city traffic.   
  
His next stop was Six Corners, where he found a little menswear shop. He bought a blue Calvin Klein sports jacket and black tie. Fraser always wore Calvin Klein suits, and he was a sharp dresser, so Stan figured he couldn't go wrong. He admired himself in the mirror, wearing his blazer. She'd like it. Yeah. Stan paid for his new clothes with plastic, and stowed the garments carefully in his car, not wanting to crease them.  
  
His phone rang as he pulled out of the parking space. He automatically checked the caller ID. "Hi Dad. What's up?" he asked.  
  
His father shouted at him. Dad hadn't quite grasped the idea that it wasn't necessary to scream when talking on a cell phone. Stan held the phone away from his ear. "Oh, yeah," he replied after his dad stopped yelling, "thanks for the tip, Dad. Right. Yeah, I'll call you later. Thanks again. Yep."  
  
Stan headed over to Cicero Ave, searching for the old hole-in-the-wall florist shop. He hoped it was still there...and it was. Christ. He hadn't been in the place since his senior prom. He fought through traffic and found a parking spot.  
  
The little place was filled floor to ceiling with color. There was barely room to walk. Black buckets were full of every imaginable color of roses and other flowers. There were coolers of more flowers behind the buckets. He immediately felt overwhelmed.  
  
"Hi, can I help you?" said the lady behind the counter, rescuing him. The counter was covered with cut stems, leaves and flower petals. The lady reminded him of half of his aunts on the Kowalski side. For all he knew, she was one of his aunts. She looked about five feet-one, and nearly as wide as she was tall. Her head was covered in a bright scarf, and she wore a slightly stained white smock.  
  
"Ah yeah. I'm lookin' for some flowers?"  
  
She smiled. "Happily, we sell flowers here, so you are very fortunate."  
  
"Yeah, what I mean is, I'm looking for flowers for a lady. A special lady. I mean, whadda ya got when you really want to impress a lady, show her that you're serious, but you don't want to...you know... scare her away either."  
  
"What is this girl like?"  
  
"She's beautiful. She's elegant and educated, and funny and a little mean, and she's compassionate, and loving, and stubborn, and..."   
  
"This is one girl?"  
  
"Oh, yeah."  
  
"Sounds like quite some girl," she said. She carefully considered. After a moment, she snapped her fingers. "I've got just the thing."  
  
A few minutes later, Stan was out on the sidewalk again, with a hundred dollars worth of flowers wrapped in a clear cellane and tied with a pink acetate bow. He handled the flowers like an egg.  
  
It was later than he thought by the time Stanley got home again. He dialed up the restaurant and confirmed his reservation, even though he called to confirm already yesterday. He just didn't want anything to go wrong. He hopped into the shower, brushed his teeth, put on a white oxford shirt and dark denims with his sports jacket and black tie, and topped it off with a pair of suede loafers. He admired himself in his full-length bathroom mirror, grabbed the flowers and his keys and finally he hit the road.  
  
Stan found himself suddenly nervous as he drove over. Don't screw it up, kid, he said to himself. Don't you dare screw it up.   
  
He double-parked right in front of the building, hopped out, and sprung into the lobby. Impatiently, he rode the elevator upstairs and took the long walk down the hallway. He cleared his throat before he reached the doorway and rang the bell.  
  
She opened the door instantly, and Stan eagerly thrust the large bouquet of pink roses, lilies and orchids towards her, feeling like a big goofy kid. He stammered something, knowing he sounded like a babbling idiot.   
  
Stella smiled, shaking her head incredulously, and took the proffered flowers. "You're sweet," she said, and ushered him in.  
  
FINIS  
  


  
 

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End B&R125: The Date by Dee Gilles 

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